Always
by nathanfillions
Summary: A series of unrelated Caskett one shots.
1. Worth the Wait

She couldn't say it. Not here, not like this. Not when she was so used to all their truths accidentally coming out in loud fits of rage and in moments they thought would be their last. That's what he would expect, so that's when she would say it. She would blurt it out in a mess of words and then when he looked at her and said it back a heartbeat later, she would say it again. She would enunciate all three syllables, leaving no room for misinterpretations. She would say it over and over until the words sounded funny and she was sure he would never forget.

She felt different. Not uncomfortable or bad different, just different in the way that she was content. But it was more than content. She felt _happy_, although she wouldn't dare say it out loud. She would never give him the satisfaction. Instead, she smiled when he brought her coffee, grazing his fingers with her own as she took the cup. She laughed at his cheesy puns. She opened her door wearing nothing but one of his shirts, unwashed because his scent was a song she never wanted to forget the lyrics to. She let him bring her breakfast in bed because all he wanted for her was the best. He wanted her to have the finer things, the absolute best of everything. He spoiled her in the most genuine and sincere sense of the word. He wanted her to know that she deserved everything he gave her.

She came to terms with the fancy restaurants and the beautiful jewelry, realizing that this was his way of showing her that she was special. But she made sure to set rules early on, claiming that she wasn't a "gold digger." He had laughed when she said it, the way she pronounced it lingering in his ears. He had taken her hand and told her nobody thought that, least of all him.

With him, it was always about the thrill. _Always. _Everything was exciting and nothing was dull. They got so caught up in every case and she loved that. She loved how he never stopped trying to solve the mystery. Who did it, why, how, he wanted to know it all, every little detail. He wanted the truth and she needed it. That's how it had been from the start.

She looked at him, but he was already staring at her. She smiled. She loved how he appreciated everything about her. He'd seen her nearly every day for years yet he was always looking, always taking the time to observe her, taking mental images of her, just in case.

The look on his face made her heart twitch. He was smiling with his mouth but his eyes were holding back. He wanted to say something, a million things maybe. She knew this because she knew him. It had been this way for a while. She had tried to ignore it in their relationship's early stages, telling herself she wasn't ready. Always too soon, too much, too permanent. She knew that once she said the words she desperately needed to say, she could never take them back. When things inevitably started to go downhill, she wouldn't be able to claim it was a mistake, wouldn't be able to cling to her own denial. There would be evidence. The words that she would've whispered to him every day up to their fall out would be proof that what they had was real, that she had been in it for the long haul.

She knew it was time. The urgent, reckless kisses could no longer serve as a dismissal of his potential confessions. It wasn't fair of her to do that to him. He was holding back and they both knew it. He called her remarkable and smiled as he held her hand and hugged her at the end of a rough day because he didn't want to overwhelm her, to scare her away.

He said it for the first time over a year and a half ago, whispering it twice in a frantic plea for her life to be spared. Her name was dropped from his lips, coated in sadness and desperation. He repeated the words a year after that, begging her again to just _choose life._ If she would just make the decision to live, for him, if anything, they would figure the rest out together. He had been mad then. Throwing her memory of his first admission in her face. She hadn't flinched or faltered, but he could tell her eyes were stinging. They look pained and tired and upset and he pretended not to notice, not to care.

It was a waiting game. Every day he would catch himself, stopping the words right before they came out of his mouth, hating how many _I Love You_'s turned into _I Think You're Amazing_'s. Complimenting her only did so much for him. He felt like he was deceiving her even though she was the one keeping him at bay. She would have been a fool if she didn't notice the slight pause after he said the word _I_ and averted his gaze to anywhere else, anything but her face. He waited patiently because if he knew anything, it was that she didn't appreciate badgering or constant reminders, she would say it when she wanted to say it. He also couldn't help but feel _the ball is in her court_. He had told her, would tell her a hundred times if she asked him to, how he felt and now it was her turn. He thought of this when he worried she would never get there, to that point of honesty. He thought of this and _relationships are a two-way street_ and every other cliché he could think of in order to justify his doubts.

He was still smiling at her when it was finally their turn to get on. He let her go first, watched her walk onto the platform before sitting down and pulling the heavy restraint over her chest, locking it in place with the small buckle that clicked when it was secure. He followed closely behind her, as he always would, sat down, and repeated her actions. They were in the front row. _Go big or go home_, she had said with a chuckle before resting her palm on his forearm and resting her small body against his firm one while they were waiting in line.

He asked her if she was nervous and she shook her head, her smile never fading. She always looked fear in the eye and he would never stop loving her for it. Just as they started moving forward, he felt it. He looked down and saw her hand on his thigh. She gave him a quick squeeze and then moved her hand up to his own, now white from gripping the bar that was keeping him in place. _Don't worry_, she told him, reassuring him with her presence and her touch and her words. It was more than enough for him. She would always be more than enough for him.

They were inching up, the track beneath them clicking with each foot they moved forward. She was still smiling and _there's no way she can be that excited_, he thought. But she _was_ that excited. Because it was time. She waited until the moment before they descended in a straight line. On the last click, the one right before the fall, she whispered his name. He looked at her again, the way he would always look at her when she said his name, the way he would never stop looking at her. _I love you. _It was remarkable. It was better than the breeze in Summer that made him forget he was sweating, better than the face she made when the cappuccino machine failed her and erupted in a mass of white hot steam, better than the site of her in bed, snoring at a barely audible volume, hugging his pillow as if it were him when he finally emerged from his office late at night. It was worth the wait.


	2. Old and Gray

"Kate?"

He didn't understand. It didn't make sense. This had to be a joke. In which case, he would give her credit because if she deserved anything at all, it was credit for trying. _Always_ trying.

"Hmmm?"

She hummed in response, one leg crossing the border between the cool tiles of the bathroom floor and the soft plush carpet of the bedroom. Her eyes scanned the room but he was nowhere to be seen.

"As much as I would _love_ to play Hide and Seek with you, I'm really not in the mood, Castle."

She gave a small laugh for his sake, not willing to admit how the week had affected her, really taken a toll on her, even though they both already knew. She pivoted her body and turned back into the bathroom. She resumed her previous actions, rubbing the wet washcloth on her cheek in small circles, carefully removing any last remnants of the makeup she had applied earlier that morning. The warm water felt good on her face. She savored it, moving the cloth higher, coving her eyelids. After a moment, she realized she was drifting and forced her eyes open again. She rung out the small towel into the sink and then folded it once, leaving it on the rack to dry. She looked at herself in the mirror one last time before sighing and turning off the light on her way out of the room.

"Kate."

Her name came out as a whisper, so quiet she almost didn't catch it.

He stood up from where he had been crouching on the floor in front of her nightstand. When he turned to face her he was holding a copy of _A Rose For Everafter. Her_ copy. She couldn't quite see the cover but it was the only book she kept in the small cabinet and it was easily recognizable by the wrinkled spine and back cover that was hanging on by a thread. The novel was open to one of the first pages and he still hadn't looked up at her yet.

"Castle."

She knew this moment would come eventually. She had just assumed that it would be when they were old and gray and he would say _It's the hair, Kate. You're always changing your hair _and she would laugh. His simple explanation would be lined with regret but she would kiss it away, even then, and she would feel the weight lift from her shoulders and sigh with relief, finally, _finally _letting him in on her last secret.

"What is this, Kate?"

She studied his face, not sure if she should apologize or not.

"Look, Castle, I didn't – "

"Kate," He cut her off, "Girls as beautiful as you shouldn't be waiting in lines as long as this. Rick Castle."

She made no attempt to talk or move or do anything. She simply waited, letting him take in the words, _his _words.

"_Kate_."

He looked at her, then back at the page, then up at her again. He looked confused. He wasn't smiling, but he wasn't frowning either.

There was no spinning of wild theories or ridiculous ideas of what, where, why, when, how. There was just him, looking at her, silently begging for reason.

She approached him then, gliding across the floor until they were face to face, breathing the same air. She gently tugged his left hand away from the book and interlaced it with her own, fingers soft and warm. He was patient, always was when it came to her.

"It was a long time ago, Castle. I didn't expect you to remember."

He was contemplating what to say, how to respond in a way that would make her understand how truly sorry he was. But he couldn't make her understand something he couldn't even understand himself, so he remained quiet.

"There were hundreds of people there, in line, that day."

She continued, offering the small piece of information in an attempt to assure him that there was no possible way he could have remembered her from their brief minute and a half meeting.

"I used to think about telling you sometimes, but what purpose would that have served? I didn't want you to feel guilty and change one of my favorite memories into something depressing."

"Kate…"

Still, he was unsure of what to say. The writer, at a loss for words. He used his free hand to trace over his familiar handwriting on the open page.

"Don't be sorry, Castle. Things were different back then. I was just a girl meeting my favorite author."

"You were _never_ just a girl, Kate."

She inhaled deeply because he had found his words. They were his, just like the ones written in her book, neatly typed and uniquely scrawled in black ink, and she would never stop being surprised by the affect they had on her. Even after all this time. She smiled and kissed his forehead, then his nose, then his cheek. She looked at his lips and then into his eyes. It was her tell. He couldn't remember there ever being a time she kissed him without looking at his lips first.

"I'm so sorry, Kate. I'm sorry. I should remember. I just _don't_ and I'm sorry, I'm truly sorry and the first time we met, _God_, how could I _forget _that? How could I _possibly_ not remember you, Kate?"

She took the book from his hands and put it on the wooden stand. She grasped his other hand firmly, squeezing both of his hands that she held in her own. He looked up at her with glossy eyes and dark pupils.

"It's the hair, Castle. I'm always changing my hair."

He let out a breath neither one of them knew he had been holding in and laughed because she always knew what to say. Then she kissed him.


	3. Pina Coladas

"_If you like pina coladas, and getting caught in the rain_,"

"Hmm?"

"_If you're not into yoga, if you have half a brain_,"

"Kate?"

"_If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape_,"

"Oh my God, _Kate_."

"_I'm the love that you've looked for, write to me and escape_."

He took quick strides through her apartment, and walked into the bedroom, toward her voice. The bathroom door was closed and he couldn't help but wonder if she would have left it open if she knew he was coming.

"_I didn't think about my lady_,"

He smiled.

"_I know that sounds kind of mean_,"

He was stupefied. He had spent nearly every day with her for as long as he could remember, but he had never heard her sing. He had never even _contemplated_ whether she liked to sing or not, let alone if she was _good_ at it. _Classic Kate_. She had this way of revealing little pieces of herself to him that he never would have guessed even existed. Of _course _she was great at singing. She was great at so many things.

"_But me and my old lady_,"

He took off his sports coat and draped it over the chair in the corner of the room. He walked over to the dresser, unbuckled his belt and took off his pants, folding them and putting them in his drawer. He unbuttoned his shirt, taking it off and folding it, before putting it in the drawer.

"_Had fallen into the same old dull routine_."

Clad in just his undershirt and boxers, he stumbled over a pair of her shoes on his way to the bed.

"_So I wrote to the paper_,"

He sat on the side of the bed for a moment before mustering up the energy to swing his legs over onto the mattress and lie down.

"_Took out a personal ad_."

He heard her turn off the shower just as he shut his eyes, the notion of sleep overwhelming him as soon as he had positioned himself on the bed.

"_And though I'm nobody's poet_,"

He heard her shuffle around, her feet padding lightly on the smooth tile.

"_I thought it wasn't half bad_."

He pictured her wrapping a soft towel tightly around her body, folding the upper corner of the material under the first layer of cloth, on the left side of her chest, to keep it in place. He pictured her grabbing another towel from the rack and then doing a forward fold, ducking her head just enough to wrap the second towel around the back of her head and around her hairline, making sure her hair in its entirety was secure within the makeshift headdress. He pictured her picking up her phone off the counter and wiping the fog from the screen with her towel. He pictured her checking all her missed notifications, seeing the two missed calls from him, the _Can I come over?_ message, and the _I'm on my way over_ text. He pictured her smiling.

She quietly emerged from the bathroom, along with some steam, and he opened his eyes. He swore she had never looked as beautiful as she did in that moment, her face free of makeup and stress and worry, her smile bright and just for him.

"I like pina coladas."

She cocked her head slightly to the right, waiting for clarification.

"And getting caught in the rain."

"Oh…" Her voice faltered. "My _God_."

The last part came out as a whisper and her cheeks flushed red in embarrassment.

"Castle, I-"

"-Have a beautiful voice." He interjected.

"Listen, can we just agree to never speak of this again?"

She was looking down and he couldn't help but laugh. This woman, this beautifully remarkable woman, was embarrassed because he had heard her sing. The same woman that had no problem going undercover and wearing a tight, barely-there dress and dancing provocatively in a night club with him and reaching under him, touching places she had never before touched, searching for a crowbar in the confines of a car trunk and kissing him for the first time, hard, twice, in front of a stranger.

"You did _not_ just laugh."

He was still thinking about their first kiss when he laughed again.

"I'm glad you find my embarrassment funny, Castle. Just know that the couch is not _nearly_ as comfortable as the bed."

"I _already_ know that."

She frowned.

"Let's make a deal."

"I'm listening," She hummed.

"I won't laugh at you again if you promise to never stop singing in the shower."

She scoffed.

"I'm serious! Also, I get to sleep in the bed."

"That's quite a deal."

"So what do you say?"

"Hmm, I don't know, Castle. Might have to sleep on it."

She winked at him and walked over to the dresser. She shimmied out of the towel that was around her body, letting it drop to the floor before opening the first drawer on the left.

"You know," He started, "It seems pretty counterproductive for me to leave clothes here if _you_ are the only one who ends up wearing them."

"Would you prefer I wear something else?"

"I'd _prefer_ you not wear anything."

She laughed as she unraveled the towel from her head and shook out her hair a few times before opening his drawer and pulling his faded grey tee shirt over her head.

"But you in my shirt is a close second."

She was standing in front of the dresser, facing the bed, looking at him.

"I love you."

It was the first time she had told him in a moment in which she wasn't in a suspect's apartment, crying, telling him he needs to leave, preparing for death. She was in her own home, with him, and she was one hundred percent alive.

"You deserve more than just a drawer because I love you."

He was sitting up in the bed, smiling at her.

"The drawer, Kate?"

She nodded.

"The drawer is perfect."

"I want to give you _more_."

He got off the bed and walked over to her until they were less than a foot apart.

"I _love _the drawer."

"No, Castle, it's not-"

"I love you, Kate."

She smiled and he kissed her.

"But it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if I had some closet space."

She laughed into his lips and hit his chest lightly.

"Kidding, Kate."


End file.
